


if tomorrow comes

by yellowyuriko



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Jedi Luke Skywalker, M/M, Mandalore before its fall, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mentions of Death, Mutual Pining, Planet Mandalore (Star Wars), Politics, Pre-War, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, mand'alor din djarin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29185566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowyuriko/pseuds/yellowyuriko
Summary: Following the assassination of Mandalore's sole Senator, Luke was sent to the remote planet on behalf of the Republic, expecting chaos and misery. Instead, Luke had found peace and people thriving on luscious land. Instead, amidst worries of war and tragic fates, Luke had become undoubtedly drawn to the golden warrior - the Mand'alor himself.“I… could use a teacher.”Luke tried to hide his smile, head tilted to the side. If this was some sort of apology, Din wouldn’t say. “As an enemy or a friend?” he asked, and he couldn’t help but notice the way Din’s helmet cocked slightly at the words.“As an ally,” the Mandalorian finally answered.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 49
Kudos: 171





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written in months and I'm so incredibly rusty, but I fell into the rabbit hole and now I have to write a tragic love story about Jedi Master Luke Skywalker from Coruscant and the King of Mandalore.
> 
> Considering this Au takes place during the Clone Wars and before the Great Purge, Din doesn’t follow strict rules regarding his helmet as there is no reason for them to hide and restore the old ways. Also, he wears the ancient golden mask of Mandalore and wears a red cape because I said so.
> 
> I can’t believe I spent hours on this, I know nothing of politics and these two shared like two minutes of screentime.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Lyrics from YaYaYa by RY X)

_Come hold me down, I've gone too far_

_These heavy words, your open heart_

_Come hold my breath and cross my heart_

_I won't come back and steal your guard_

*

Chirping birds were flying and dancing around luscious trees. No clouds in sight, sky an infinite blue azure. The sun was bright but the cold was getting rougher day by day on the northern side of Mandalore, where its inhabitants would soon enter the harsher season.

Luke adjusted the hood of his cloak, his prosthetic hand clasped around the woolen material to keep it from flying in the wind. His footsteps were light yet determined, his mind focused as his hands carefully gestured around to clear his path of stubborn flora.

Travelling by foot had been the only option to reach Keldabe, the capital of Mandalore, his X-wing left stranded near a vibrant estuary. With talks among the Senate about potential Separatist occupation following the assassination of the planet’s Senator, Luke had clearly not expected to see the place as intact. Its rich climate had been a pleasant surprise, an assuasive change from the desolate landscapes he had gotten used to. Peaceful Force energy had welcomed him upon his landing. He had been somewhat thankful for the low temperatures, making the walking much less tiresome.

As he reached the end of the forest, he noticed clouds of smoke rising to the sky, lush meadows now extended before him. He stilled, eyes looking up the sky, one hand lifted to block the sun rays from blinding him. His black robe fluttered in the breeze, carrying the smell of burnt pine as the remnants of a creek softened the soil under his feet. The smoke seemed to originate from small huts in the distance. He could not sense any sign of disturbance in the Force, suggesting no signs of danger ahead.

The lightsaber on his hip lay heavy and untouched, tangling once again as he recovered his pace. He perceived faint laughter in the distance, children giggling through the fields. A strange feeling tugged at his heart. He thought about home, about the younglings on Coruscant he so dearly cared about. Memories of tumultuous teaching sessions among laughing faces resurfaced. He smiled fondly, hope blooming in his chest, and for a brief moment, he forgot about the ruthless images of the war.

Farmers, knee deep in the dirt, working on harvesting their last crops, shouted at the running children. Now approaching the village, Luke noticed the bigger buildings on the horizon, further from the fields – it was Keldabe. It seemed full of life, far from what he had imagined. It seemed… peaceful. He wasn’t sure what it was, but the dissonance between his visions and reality was jarring. The images had left him feeling full of dread, the sensations still palpable and vivid in his mind.

Lost in his observations, he sensed the small presence before seeing it. A little girl, her face covered in mud, was now looking up at him curiously. He acknowledged her presence with a smile, hands folded in front of him. “Hello, little one,” he greeted her in Basic.

The child’s eyes shone bright and lively, void of any trace of fear. She wiped at her face, trying to make herself more presentable, only smearing the grime further. “Are you a Jedi?” she asked, head tilted to the side.

“I am,” he replied. She smiled back and sheepishly pointed toward Luke’s lightsaber. “Can I see?”

Hesitant, he looked down at the weapon, briefly pushing the robe to reveal the silver handle. “Rita!” a voice shouted suddenly, laced with fear and motherly dread. Luke snapped his head up and immediately moved his hands away from his lightsaber. The mother stood up, running toward her daughter to yank her away from him. Alerted by her cry, the farmers had all turned around and a few armored Mandalorians had hurryingly exited their huts, weapons drawn.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm,” Luke spoke carefully as they all stood impossibly still and tense. “I’m here to meet with the Mand’alor.”

Silent stares were exchanged, but the warriors remained in position. In the corner of his eyes, Luke noticed the slight shuffling coming from one of the huts on his right. Words in Mando’a were spoken. A man moved forward, covered in armor from head to toe, his golden crafted helmet reflecting in the sun and a cape as red as wine hanging over his pauldrons. Tension palpable, Luke slowly dropped the hood of his robe to finally reveal his identity.

“I’ve been waiting for your arrival,” the low voice echoed as the man approached. Luke’s smile was now as bright as the sun. It radiated a youthfulness the Mand’alor had not witnessed since the beginning of the War in the Outer Rims, since worries about misery and violence had plagued the planet and its people. The fear of losing what they had so painfully regained was too great for them to welcome a mysterious stranger that easily, a Jedi nonetheless.

“Mand’alor,” Luke said with humble determination, eyes as blue as the sky on Tatooine. “It’s a great honor to finally meet you.”

The calm demeanor he exuded was almost out of place, entirely inconsistent with the hostile atmosphere. Helmeted warriors had lifted their blades, planted menacingly on their feet, fearless. A gloved hand carefully replaced the black robe over the handle of his lightsaber. Eyes fixed on the heavily armored silhouette, Luke went down on one knee, offering his reverence, his blond hair blowing in the wind like a field of golden wheat on a hot summer’s day.

“Introduce yourself, Jedi,” the Mandalorian finally inquired, the sound slightly modulated by the filter of his helmet.

“Luke, Mand’alor, Luke Skywalker,” he swiftly responded. “I am here on diplomatic terms. I was sent by the Jedi Council on behalf of the Republic. It regards the assassination of your Senator.”

The helmet tilted forward, the movement barely noticeable. “Rise, Jedi,” came his answer, voice low and calm. “Come, follow me.”

Luke did as he was told, pushing himself from the ground. The Mandalorians immediately relaxed, dropping their defense. They whispered among themselves as they slowly went back to their occupations. Luke noticed the distrustful looks, but decided not to dwell on it. The Mand’alor patiently waited for him to join his side.

“We do not require Republic intervention,” he began as they walked down the path between the green pastures, away from the huts. “The Mandalorian government wishes to deal with this matter independently.”

The wind picked up again, stronger and colder this time. Though the Mandalorian didn’t seem fazed, Luke shuddered violently, unconsciously drawing his robe closer to his body. Frowning, he briefly considered the consequences of such a radical decision.

“I must insist, Mand’alor,” he replied, his expression more serious than ever. “The Republic worries about the implications of such an act. Mandalore would greatly benefit from a third party after this attempted coup.”

The murder of the planet’s sole Senator had been undoubtedly catastrophic for their government. Losing its only representative in the Senate, Mandalore was left defenseless, at the mercy of political extremists and left out of intergalactic decisions. For a system proudly claiming its neutrality after countless years of civil war and political conflict, the murder of their newly elected Senator was a potential trigger for future unrest.

Hands behind his back, the Mand’alor casted him an indecipherable look. “The cooperation of a neutral system with the Republic is a delicate matter.” He paused, facing forward again, where the city lay ahead. “No, we cannot allow ourselves to get involved with the Republic. Not after everything.”

Luke had heard about the Republic being met with skepticism. Neutral systems saw their military ubiquity among the Outer Rim as undesirable, like invaders on their land, casting bad luck wherever they sat foot. Though their independence was honorable, Luke had seen the consequences of such opinions more than anyone else. Chaos and decimation, extremists choosing to violate innocent planets’ neutrality in the war – one way or the other, shadows of death and gloom waited upon them. But for Luke, it was about fighting for freedom rather than dying a slave.

“You can no longer remain outsiders,” Luke shook his head, stopping in his tracks, unable to hide his confusion. “Mand’alor, the Republic urges you to join the Senate once again. Refusing their help could mean suicide.”

The golden visor dipped slightly to the side, expressionless, as if looking for any trace of insincerity. “We won’t compromise our neutrality to appease the Republic’s concerns,” he stated dryly.

“At least consider it,” Luke maintained, earnest eyes locked on the Mandalorian. “Discuss the election of a new Senator for Mandalore with your people. Let them know about the danger about to come.”

“The people will decide,” he paused, before continuing. “I should warn you that they don't hold the Republic in high regards, much less the Jedi.”

Admittingly, the long history of rivalry between the Mandalorians and the Jedi was hard to ignore. He imagined their negotiations had been bound to an unfortunate start. After all, Mandalorians were known for their strong will - a more polite description for their stubbornness. 

Luke nodded. “Of course, I understand.”

“Then I will see you to your room,” the Mandalorian spoke as they both reached the last few houses.

Leaves flew around them as another breeze wiped the village. They were about to enter one of the small houses, when suddenly a small coo stopped them both in their tracks. Green pointy ears appeared behind a tall patch of grass and big shimmery eyes looked up toward them. For a brief moment, something moved through the Force, so very strong and vibrant it took Luke by surprise.

“Ad’ika,” the Mandalorian sighed as he approached the small creature. “I told you to wait for me.”

Tiny clawed hands reached out from where it stood as the man scooped it up. Luke went impossibly still. The Mand’alor turned around to face him, the green creature now buried in his arms, grasping at loose fabric from his bodysuit. It stared at him curiously, perhaps sensing Luke through the Force, too. He was tempted to reach for the child, but he decided against it, choosing to not to intrude the pair’s obvious bond. Their interaction seemed so ordinary, as if this had happened countless times before. He couldn’t help but silently wonder about the nature of their relationship.

“Tonight, I will arrange a council,” the Mandalorian resumed as he welcomed him inside the hut, unsuspecting of Luke’s surprise. “Then, we will decide on the matter once and for all.”

As he sat foot in the room, his breath turned to white from the cold. It was obvious the fireplace hadn’t been lit since the beginning of winter. Luke shivered unconsciously as he looked around, overwhelmed by the smells of pine wood and sandstone. Noticing his unease, the Mandalorian headed for the small chimney and crouched in front of it, the child in one hand and grabbing logs in the other.

“I will bring you warm clothing, Master Skywalker,” the Mand’alor offered as he got to work, but it was less about hospitality than it was about taunting his obliviousness. “It seems you underestimated Mandalore’s harsh climate.” He paused, and Luke could picture the way his eyebrows raised under the visor as he continued his teasing. “Or might I suggest travelling to Sundari, where the desert is more suited to your needs.”

Luke simply smiled, unimpressed. “Perhaps another day.”

*

It was strange, how closed off he was. Luke had rarely met people he could hardly decipher, used to sensing their energy through the Force or observing their facial expressions. The helmet left nothing up for interpretation – it was cold, emotionless. A façade that had Luke curious, for reasons he couldn’t exactly explain.

He usually liked discovering the intricacies of the people he met, how complicated humans could get. Beneath the surface lured many layers, and deep inside rested a beating heart as fragile as glass. In many ways, Luke never stopped believing in the best of people. A weakness of his, perhaps. But even when others lost faith and darkness loomed, he shone his light like the sun and the stars combined. Blinding hope seeping through his every word, Luke was an anchor when the world went dark.

It was hope that brought him to Mandalore. It was hope that made him dedicate his life to the Jedi. So when visions came and visited him that same afternoon – images of white landscapes, of rough sand and vivid red – he held onto hope, refusing to let go. 

Seated cross legged in front of the newly lit fire, he tried to maintain his meditative state despite the unrest the visions stirred in him. He heard the footsteps before he sensed the man.

“You mentioned Sundari in our conversation this morning,” Luke mused, as he opened his eyes to finally look at the Mand’alor leaning against the doorframe.

“Having a change of heart?” he replied as he set down a small pile of clothes on one of the seats.

“No,” Luke smiled, amused. “Though I did wonder about the city.”

“It’s not much of a city,” the Mand’alor explained, quite matter-of-factly. “The white desert of Sundari is where the Beskar mines can be found.”

Luke hummed as he stood up, flattening the creases of his robe. He could still sense the unease between them, tension he wished time would heal.

“Mandalorian craftsmanship is impressive,” he praised, his eyes lingering on the helmet, hands folded in front of him. “And Beskar is invaluable.”

Luke marked a pause as he carefully chose his next words. “I guess I’m wondering if the people responsible for the assassination of the Senator might have ulterior motives.”

The Mandalorian crossed his arms and shifted onto his feet as the Jedi approached. “Do you know more about this?” he asked, his tone almost quiet, uneasy.

“I can’t be too sure,” Luke said, gaze dropping in a frown. He thought about the visions but he knew better than to mention them. The premonitions were his to worry about. Burdening others with hypothetical future scenarios he couldn’t guarantee was unfair. Fire crackled from the chimney, and he was suddenly too aware of the stretching silence between them.

“You didn’t bring your little friend,” Luke noted as he finally looked up.

The Mand’alor tensed ever so slightly. “I’m afraid the council would bore him to death.”

Luke smiled and in his eyes, there it was again, glistening – the serenity, the kindness, so welcoming. They made him look younger, hinting at his once boyish past, a shimmer of light he never really lost. Somehow it was hard to imagine that he was now a Jedi Master, that he had suffered loss and hardships no one could imagine. His powers hid beneath his calm appearance. It made him look harmless despite his abilities, his experience. 

“Yes,” he answered as he started walking, gloved fingers briefly touching the Mandalorian’s elbow. “A wise decision indeed.”

*

The Mand’alor was met with silence, each person in the room instantly raising to their feet upon his arrival. Quick unintelligible words in Mando’a were exchanged, words Luke couldn’t find meaning for. The Mand’alor acknowledged everyone with a solemn nod. Luke was following close behind, the whole atmosphere shifting as soon as they noticed his presence, welcoming him with disapproving looks. 

Representatives of all the clans had been gathered for the meeting. Though he didn’t know much about Mandalorian culture, he had heard about the different clans and their varying number of members. Mandalorian hierarchy differed from the Jedi in many ways, and he couldn’t help but wonder about their other dissimilarities. 

The Mand’alor invited them all to take a seat, clearly used to the staid routine of such councils. Luke was surprised to watch the warriors remove their helmet in unison, the gesture almost scriptural, bare faces meeting his own. Shoulders straight and chin forward, the Mand’alor waited for everyone to turn their attention toward him. 

“The last few years have been arduous for Mandalore“, he began, voice low and steady. “We have fought hard and overcome many obstacles for freedom. For peace.”

His hands clutched at his sides as he paused briefly. “Let there be no mistake,” he said. “The death and murder of Mandalore’s Senator at the hands of the Separatists is a direct attack on our neutrality as a system.” 

Luke nodded carefully, his hands folded in front of him. “The Republic would like to offer Mandalore military protection against Separatist retaliation. They are asking for you to join the Senate once again.”

Sinister looks shadowed the Mandalorians’ faces. It was obvious the situation entailed an uncertain future. The severity of the incident had become hard to ignore.

“It is utmost important that we consider the matter carefully,” the Mand’alor continued.

“Indeed,” one of the younger Mandalorians interjected, eyebrows knitted in concern. “Though I find the intervention of the Jedi most inopportune, knowing their dubious warmongering rhetoric.”

“Are the Jedi not meant to be peacekeepers?” an older Mandalorian added, greying hair framing his hardened gaze. “How does the promise of a war comply with that ideal?”

A few nodded in unison. The Mand’alor tensed, his visor barely leaning toward Luke.

“The Jedi is here to bring the Republic’s message to Mandalore,” he argued, but there was hesitation in his voice. “Their status in the war should not influence our decision.”

Feeble disagreements could be heard and Luke was only too aware of the attention he had brought on himself through his presence. He focused on his breathing, not used to this amount of scrutiny, worry blooming in his chest once again. Still, he kept his eyes locked onto the Mandalorians sitting around the table.

“When the time comes, we will fight as Mandalorians and stand as a neutral system,” another man spoke resolutely, a whitened scar splashed across his face. “That is the way of the Mandalore.”

“Many do not share our neutral point of view,” another Clan leader stated sternly, shaking her head in unease. “If Mandalore really is under Separatist threat, then perhaps Republic military presence is the only chance we have.”

The older Mandalorian slammed his fist on the table. “Betraying Mandalore’s neutrality is the path to Republic occupation. If the Senator’s outrageous murder is anything to go by, we _need_ to reassert ourselves as a neutral system, not give into the Republic’s demands.”

“What are you suggesting we do?” she asked, her frown deepening. “Think about the children, their future.”

“The children will be safe under the protection of the Mandalorians,” he groaned, green eyes scanning the room. “As is intended by the code.”

The two exchanged cold looks. “Perhaps a keldabe handshake would change their minds,” another warrior joined, mouth curved into a sneering smile.

“Enough,” the Mand’alor interrupted firmly. “If we cannot reach a consensus, then I suggest we take more time for further reflection. This is no time for division.”

“Mand’alor,” one of the younger women spoke as she stood up, her armor silver and lustrous, her dark eyes filled with honesty and determination. “We cannot let Mandalore fall to the hands of the Separatists. However, I believe I speak for everyone if I say that the status of Mandalore as a neutral system is something we just cannot forsake.”

The room went silent, their expressions heavy with realization. They all knew, deep down, that their minds were already made up. No amount of debating would change that. No amount of arguing would change their perception of the Republic, or their stance on Mandalore’s neutral status. Luke stood quiet, his heart burdened by the ramification of this decision, of his visions. Because no matter which side he adhered to, all he saw was the crying, the bloodsheds and the losses. He was no friend of war, and if by some miracle Luke could entwine the Jedi’s involvement, he would - without a second thought. But the Jedi had lost that choice a long time ago. 

“The fate of Mandalore lies in our hands,” the Mand’alor eventually broke the silence. “I trust in our people to make the right choice. We will organize a meeting to decide on the election of a new Senator. In the meantime, the Jedi will act as a delegate to the Senate for Mandalore.”

The Mandalorians rose to their feet, chairs scraping the floor and head held high. 

“This is the way.”

*

They had left the meeting together under the pretense of further political conversation, but Luke knew better than to rehash the last tiring hours. His curiosity took the better of him, his desire to learn about Mandalorian culture too great to ignore. 

“What was the expression he used?” he asked, referring back to the cocky Mandalorian from earlier.

The helmet dipped slightly as they walked side by side, sky a gradual dusk. “A keldabe handshake?”

“What is it?” he asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

The Mand’alor let out a faint laugh, and Luke shivered unconsciously at the sound. This was the first time he heard the man laugh. It was quiet, almost reserved, but enough to awaken something in his chest he had long forgotten about. 

“It's a not-so-polite way of telling you to keep your distance,” he kindly replied. “A keldabe handshake is quite an unorthodox combat technique.”

Luke hummed, still considering the words. “I suppose it’s not a pleasant experience.”

“Probably not.”

There was more he wanted to say, more questions he wanted to ask, but he was unsure whether to push his limits or to let it go. He usually didn’t shy away from questionable conversations, but there was something about the Mand’alor, about his emanation that made him uncertain.

The words were burning his tongue. “Do you think the relationship between the Jedi and the Mandalorians can ever be mended?”

The Mand’alor stopped in his tracks, his red cape a deep bordeaux in the increasing darkness, helmet tilted to the side.

“They don’t trust the Republic,” he explained, somewhat guarded, tense. “They don’t trust you.”

Luke went silent at that. It never really occurred to him that the Jedi had such a cynical reputation. Growing up, Jedis were these mythical beings, the embodiment of peace and justice. He had dreamt of joining the order with all these righteous goals in mind, all these glorified ideas he had about what it meant to be a Jedi. Over time, some things had inexorably changed. He had recognized the weaknesses of the ancient rules, the flawed rhetorics about attachments – all of it. But whatever disagreement he may have expressed, Luke still wholeheartedly believed in the Jedi order, in the Force.

“Is there anything I can do to change that?” he asked, genuinely wondering.

The Mandalorian seemed to ponder the thought. “You’re welcome to join us at dinner,” he eventually offered. “Mandalorians like to end Zhellday with bonfires. Hard to miss.”

Luke smiled politely. “Thank you.”

And without another word, the warrior was already walking away.

*

Bright laughter and smells of smoked meat helped him find the bonfire’s location. A few clans had gathered with the children. One of the warriors was playing a hallikset, a seven-stringed instrument which he recognized from Naboo, and others were singing along absentmindedly. The moment felt so intimate Luke was afraid to appear as an intruder. He sat down quietly, not too close but not too far, so as not to interrupt the magic. 

As night fell, his hunger and his exhaustion had made him unusually quiet. Though he loved travelling through the Galaxy more than anything else, he never quite avoided the homesickness. It was always bound to catch up to him at some point. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, he knew it was part of the journey, yet that night it felt stronger, almost disquieting. He reached through the Force though he couldn’t sense anything out of the ordinary. He looked around, but the Mand’alor was nowhere to be seen.

A young, familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. “Dad says the Jedi are bad.”

Inquisitive eyes met his. Luke replied with a smile, fatigue briefly vanishing from his face. “Did he tell you the stories?”

The little girl shook her head, and he could see that same eagerness in her eyes from earlier. He encouraged her to come closer, patting the ground softly to offer her a seat by his side. As she settled down gingerly, he began telling her about the stories he used to tell his students, about lessons of patience, courage and determination. He recounted adventures about his time as a padawan and how he too was once as young as her.

“The Force is an energy field created by all living things,” he explained as she sat unable to look away. “It surrounds us and penetrates us, it binds the galaxy together.”

He paused, fond memories of his former master resurging. “Jedi learn the ways of the Force so it can become their most powerful ally.”

Her eyes lit up in awe, as if the words invoked pictures of unlimited adventure in her young mind. “Will you show me?” she asked.

Luke laughed softly. “No lightsaber,” he scolded kindly. “But I can show you something to appease your curiosity.”

A few toys had been left in the grass by the younger children of the clans. He looked at the colorful glass beads, and with a delicate finger movement, the items all lifted in the air. He let them form a neat circle around her, like the rings of a planet, and made them move in unison. The girl giggled in surprise, captivated by the spectacle.

“A word of advice,” he spoke again as the beads moved faster. “No matter what anyone says, always see things for yourself.” He let the beads gently fall into her hands. “And keep that curious mind of yours.”

She clutched at the beads, and stood up, a sweet dazzled look on her round face. “Yes, Master Skywalker.”

Before he could add anything else, she was already running away toward her friends, all too eager to tell them about her encounter. The Mandalorians had started serving their meals, passing the bowls among themselves. Luke let his gaze fall on his knees, lost in thoughts, the smile lingering on his face.

“You must be hungry,” a female voice spoke suddenly as she offered a bowl of scorching hot stew.

He recognized the younger woman from the council, the adamant clan leader with silver armor. He accepted the bowl with gratitude and she simply replied with a casual smile. 

“They’re wrong, you know,” she spoke, sitting down in front of him. “We’re all victims of this war. It’s just easier to blame someone else for the pain, and the Jedi happen to be at the forefront.”

“Your Mand’alor,” Luke tried, his tongue burning from the unexpected spice. “Does he believe the same?”

“He’s not one to be clouded by prejudice,” she considered. “But he cares about his people and their future. He only wants the best for Mandalore, the rest is second.”

Luke nodded as she took another spoonful of meat stew.

“Does he ever talk about the child?”

“The little green one?” she smiled. “Not much, no. The kid just follows him like his shadow. It’s sweet.”

“Does he… Does he have a family?”

She seemed to think about it, and shrugged. “He’s not the social kind. Granted, he’s a great leader, but it’s taken over his life. I sometimes think it must be lonely.” She paused, her eyes glistening with the sadness love entailed. “I couldn’t live without my siblings by my side.”

Luke nodded in understanding. Fire crackled and happy chatter echoed. She gave him a sly look, lifting her spoon as she continued speaking. “Some have tried, though. Courting, I mean. Who wouldn’t?”

He couldn’t help but fluster, not expecting her to be so blunt. “Why is that?”

She laughed, patting him on his shoulder. “He’s the Mand’alor and an admirable warrior, that’s why, _flyboy_.”

He huffed in good humor, his eyes following the growing flames of the bonfire, his mind drifting toward the Mand’alor. And then, suddenly – that feeling of dread, unshakable. It was like a ball of cotton engulfing thoughts, feelings and sensations. It pulsed through his veins in waves, achingly cold. His breathing hitched and his hands balled into trembling fists. He tried closing his eyes, but the darkness was soon replaced by crimson colors and sharp screams. He groaned in pain as the feeling grew and took root in his mind, relentless and violating. The pain became physical, flowing through his body, paralyzing.

As his breathing became erratic and the panic increasingly flooded, a gentle hand settled on his forearm. “What’s the matter, Jedi?” the woman asked, her expression painted by worry.

Piercing blue eyes snapped open, and Luke gasped as if emerging from stormy water. His heart was pounding out of his chest, the words heavy in his mouth, full of grief. “I sensed them,” he whispered, his voice weak and his eyes full of terror. “I felt them die.”

*

Without thinking, Luke had gone and looked for the Mand’alor, trying to ease his own mind as he walked through the empty village. The fresh air was a welcome change to the hotness in his limbs. Panic had subsided, though the worry hadn’t. It lingered heavily in his chest, making it hard to breathe. No amount of training could ever prepare a Jedi to death. Luke thought he had experienced enough loss to understand the premise and yet – the act of dying itself had opened a door of sensations and feelings he wished he never had to go through again.

Unsure where to go, he simply had followed his instincts, trusting himself to find the right path. Drawing his cloak closer to his body, he let his eyes roam through the moonlit streets. The silvery glow from the binary moons of Mandalore casted shadows in every corner, and Luke could feel the weight of his lightsaber hanging on his hip. Maybe it was intuition, maybe it was something else – he just knew something was lurking. He turned around, expecting something, or someone, but nothing appeared. 

A few houses further, Luke saw the lonely silhouette sitting on a porch, his back casually resting against the stairs. As he got closer, he noticed the small creature in his arms, pointy ears dropped in a soft doze, its breathing regular and calm. He approached carefully, as if asking for permission to sit down beside him.

“It’s a rare sight,” the Mand'alor suddenly spoke, head lifted toward the sky. “The two full moons can only be seen at once every few decades.”

“It’s beautiful,” Luke noted as he sat down, somewhat dazed by the ethereal view of the luminous white moons.

There was another silence, as if a piece of dialogue was missing, as if the long established history between their cultures now meddled with the true meaning of their conversation. Unspoken sadness radiated from the both of them, as if the Mand’alor, just like Luke, had sensed the disturbance through the Force.

“How do you feel about staying for a bit?” the man asked, and the softness in his voice was unmistakable.

Luke turned to face him, searching for a trace of humor, but he found that he was serious.

“I’m… not sure,” he frowned, his pupils fluttering. “It’s not just Mandalore, it’s the way this war seems to last. I can’t shake this sense of impending doom.”

They looked at each other silently, cheering voices far in the background, golden visor and pale skin illuminated by the celestial bodies. 

“Mandalore has lived through many wars,” the Mand’alor replied, his voice raspy. “There’s always a chance.”

Stars shone weakly above them, overshadowed by the binary moons. “I know,” Luke smiled sadly, his pupils dilating as he faced forward again. “But at what cost?”


	2. Chapter 2

For a planet as cold as Mandalore, the sun still dazzled and lit up the forest in golden colors, tints of green and flowery sprouts unveiled by the light. It was peaceful, the life flowing through the woodland a welcome balm on Luke’s bruised heart. Worry had settled down, now replaced by grief. Falling asleep had been quite the challenge, so when he eventually drifted, the night became meddled with restless dreams.

It was still early, morning dew slowly dripping off the trees. Roaming aimlessly through the woods, Luke had discovered the Mandalorian’s little green creature erring through the bushes on his own, his garment stuck on spiking thorns. He had picked up the child, and together they had found a glaze, not too far away from a small creek. 

He could sense the creature trying to communicate clumsily through the Force, and for some reason the attempt made him smile fondly. Reminiscent of his time as a teacher, of the younglings’ first lessons – it sparked something in him, a combination of affection, ruefulness and reverie. 

“You’re welcome,” he whispered to him, placing a soft kiss on the top of his head. The child purred in joy, words of curiosity and childlike endearment emanating through the Force. He helped him undress from his torn gown, lifting his little arms until he was left with his undergarments. 

Brown eyes opened up in sudden interest as a frog jumped in front of them. Noticing the toddler trying to break free from his arms, Luke let him go, watching as he ran after the animal.

Luke searched his pockets for the small toolkit he always carried around his belt. Pulling out a needle and what little he had left of thread, he started stitching up the hole, eager to focus his attention on something else than the recent event. 

He was about to slip off the leather glove to make the task easier for his prosthetic, when he sensed the new presence. Twigs snapped under the Mandalorian’s soles, alerting Luke of his location. 

“Good morning,” he greeted without looking up.

Luke had changed into a crossover tunic, made of a combination of pure silk and wool, color a natural white, all cinched by a leather belt. As he slightly bent down to finish a stitch, the fabric briefly slipped to reveal pale collarbones and a multitude of scars, and the Mandalorian turned his head so slightly it could have been interpreted a number of ways. Blonde hair rustled in the wind and there it was again – a smile, so faint and gentle. A way of acknowledging his presence. 

“I found your little friend in the woods,” Luke spoke as the man sat down. “His robe needed a little patching. I hope you don’t mind.”

He turned to face him, head slightly tilted to the side. The Mandalorian hadn’t uttered a word since he arrived, his expression still unreadable, as always. He didn’t seem surprised to find them here, and Luke suspected the little thing had made a habit out of his morning escapades. 

The child was playing happily near the water, a few steps away from them, creeping upon unamused frogs. 

“How do you become a Jedi?” the Mand’alor eventually prompted, as if lost in thoughts, eyes locked onto the little creature.

Luke sighed as he thought about the right answer to that question. “Well, it’s a long process.”

Then, as he tightened a seam, he thought about his beginning, his experience as a young boy. “The younglings receive training on Coruscant until they are of age,” he explained carefully. “As Padawans, they learn firsthand experience from their Master before facing the trials. Only through dedication, patience and skills can they be knighted as Jedi.”

The child managed to catch the amphibian he had been eyeing for some time, proudly giggling before gulping it down loudly. Luke laughed softly, and shook his head.

“Coruscant... I’ve never been,” the Mandalorian replied, hands resting on his knees.

“It’s not as pretty as Mandalore.”

“Why is that?”

Luke shrugged, lifting the clothing piece in the air as he examined the results. “I guess I much prefer the greenery.”

He pulled the needle through the fabric, then carefully dipped again to tie a knot, agile fingers making quick work of the tear. Now finished with the frog, the child had now found something else that caught his attention in the water. Sensing the inevitable incident, Luke instantly extended his hand just as the child was about to fall head first into the creek. The toddler cooed playfully as Luke lifted him in the air and brought him back to them. 

“A child’s curiosity can be unpredictable,” he laughed, noticing the Mandalorian’s silence.

As he placed the child back gently onto the grass, something swayed through the Force. It reverberated in such strong waves Luke struggled to determine its nature at first. The child got back on his feet, instantly running in the Mandalorian’s arms. Gloved hands caught the little creature and pulled him into a tight embrace. Seeing them so close, so bonded, Luke ultimately realized.

“He sees you as a father.”

Incredibly big and shimmery eyes peered from the warrior’s arms. Luke reached for the small clawed hand clutching at the vambrace, sendings waves of affection through the Force. They exchanged vague words, thoughts rather than whole sentences. The child was still very young, so it wasn’t able to communicate like an adult would, even through the Force. Luke could sense a word being repeated, a name. The Mandalorian seemed hesitant, taken aback by their silent exchange as well as Luke’s words.

“I heard you, Grogu” Luke replied at last, a delicate smile, a faint note of nostalgia in his eyes – the look of a young teacher.

Grogu responded with some happy babbling, ears rising in interest.

“Force sensitive children are the future,” Luke mused as he bent forward to look him in the eye. “Isn’t that right, Grogu?”

He gently poked the child’s round nose with his gloved fingertip. Grogu let out a small giggle. The Mandalorian was looking at them completely silent.

“You understand him,” it wasn’t a question but a quiet realization.

“I do, somewhat” Luke replied, now looking at the man, still as luminous. “Grogu and I can feel each other’s thoughts.” Legs crossed, he picked up the needle once again and resumed his task, fiddling with the yarn. The warrior lowered his head to look at the child resting in his arms. 

“I’ve thought about bringing him to Coruscant. For his training.”

“You’re still hesitating?”

The Mandalorian looked at him. There was something about his tone, his body language that was suddenly much more vulnerable, as if the child brought out the most fragile part of him. Luke internally lectured himself for not seeing the intense fatherly bond earlier. 

“Yes,” the man admitted thickly. Luke paused to look him in the eye, his hand settling delicately on his forearm. The touch came naturally, steadying and honest. Though he was not a father by any means, Luke understood what it meant to love someone so much you’d trade your life for them.

“The greatest act of love one can show is to let go,” his words were gentle, almost unsure whether to pry further or not. 

The warrior shook his head, the movement almost invisible. “I’m not sure I could.” A blue butterfly came flying, delicately wandering around Grogu’s round face.

“He’s strong with the Force,” Luke explained, fingers pinching the protruding ear gently. “But he still needs to master his abilities.”

The warrior followed his hand, his body language cautious, but enough to reveal how much he deeply cared for the child. The love of father was an immovable force, a letter of unconditional dedication and protection, a promise in itself. Luke knew, looking at the man, that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for the child, that his love was sacrificial. Beneath the armor and the layers, there it was – the door to more questions, like a blackhole about to swallow him whole. Luke couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. 

“I don’t know your name,” the words came blurting out without a thought.

He was about to take it back, to apologize for his indiscretion, his cheeks reddening by the second, but the Mandalorian simply looked at him, and if it weren’t for the visor, maybe there would be an expression of surprise, of bashfulness. He could feel the eyes burrowing, and really, it was silly, but Luke almost felt naked.

“It’s Din,” the Mand’alor finally replied, voice so low it made him shudder.

Icy blue eyes stared in dismay, and Luke’s smile grew so wide it was blinding.

“Din,” he let the word sit on his tongue. “It’s nice to meet you.”

*

Not many people knew the Mand’alor’s name. When Luke overheard conversations about the ruler of Mandalore, the name was never uttered, as if it carried a sacred, unspoken meaning. The fact that Din had shared this part of him had been a welcome surprise, and Luke couldn’t deny his interest growing day by day. He treated it as a gift and used the name sparingly in his mind, and never in front of others. It made him wonder about what other parts Din could be hiding.

Whether the abiding use of the helmet was a noble tradition or a personal preference, it seemed inherently part of the man’s identity, so Luke hadn’t questioned it. Whatever the answer to that question was, it didn’t change anything about who the Mand’alor was at his core – a fearsome warrior, a worthy leader, and a loving father. 

Luke learned to appreciate how straightforward Din could be, but also how quiet and withdrawn he usually was in his presence. So when the tragic news about the neutral planet Kiros had reached Mandalore that one afternoon, he hadn’t expected Din to be so agitated. It wasn’t the type of unrest one would commonly expect, no – rather, Din had isolated himself under the false pretense of combat training and then never showed up again during the day.

Luke had contacted the Jedi council for further information or advice, though his role as a delegate made it impossible to leave and join Republic defenses on Kiros. The thought had crossed his mind of course, naive and fleeting and absurd. He wanted to make himself helpful in some way, but more importantly, he wanted to avoid the guilt of not helping the planet when he could have. 

Waiting until sundown, Luke had gone and looked for Din. Maybe it was out of pure diplomacy, maybe it was more than that – a slither of hope that he could still change the Mand’alor’s mind, that he could offer some comfort with his words. Just like the night of the binary moons, Luke had listened to his instincts, to the Force, hoping it would bring him to Din.

Weak lighting and quiet shuffling drew Luke toward one of the outside courts, where younger Mandalorians learned combat and traditional sparring techniques. It was deserted except for one familiar silhouette, beskar spear shining in the dark, sounds of metal swaying through the air and echoing through the night. His cloak floating in the breeze, Luke stilled at a distance, watching as Din wielded the weapon with expert ease.

With a notable clang, the warrior let the spear hit the ground before turning slightly toward the new presence, his shoulders tense, breathing in exertion.

“I heard about Kiros,” Din said, his voice barely audible. “I heard the Togruta were enslaved, others mysteriously vanished.”

“Yes,” Luke replied, mournful, his eyes greyed by grief. He took the man’s words as an invitation to come closer. “The Separatists have taken hold of the planet, and the Republic has sent their troops in hopes of fighting back against their occupation.”

Din lifted the spear once again, as if lost in thought. Kiros was a beautiful planet, a neutral system thriving in peace. The raid of such a pacifist system was almost unreal. It suggested that no one was safe from the hands of the Separatists, and that diplomacy had lost all its value.

Din looked at the spear, his fingers laced around the neck. “Beskar mines have become a great interest. It won’t be long before they get their hands on this planet.”

Luke made one more step, as if trying to reach out in some way, to make his presence more felt. “And the people?”

“If words are true…” Din spoke, his voice tentative. “Beskar is not Mandalore’s sole attraction.”

“The Republic could still–“

“No,” he interrupted him harshly, lifting a hand, and the helmet reflected glints of light as he moved. “This is not about the Republic, this is about Mandalore finally standing up to political absolutism.”

"These are Separatists," Luke pleaded with him, blue eyes full of worry. "I’ve seen what such forces can do, what damage they can bring. How do you plan to face them on your own?"

“Do not pretend to be an ally,” the Mandalorian snapped, his whole body suddenly guarded. “Jedi have brought nothing but pain and misery to Mandalore.”

Luke held his gaze, ignoring the way his heart pounded in his chest as the hurt spread through his veins. He knew that this was Din’s fear talking, his worries, his pain – he could see the anxiety betraying his movements, his tone. 

“You don’t mean that,” Luke whispered as he adjusted his black cloak, trying to hide the way his voice faltered at the words. 

Luke’s hands stilled on his belt as they both silently looked at each other, the air suddenly thick between them. Din’s body language was hard to decipher. It was more than a physical barrier, the armor concealed his most vulnerable emotions. It didn’t allow for others to enter his mind, nor his heart. A way of securing him from humanity’s worst weakness, Luke thought – attachment.

But just as misunderstood by the Jedi Order, armor and rules did not stop people from showing affection – they just made it harder.

Luke approached carefully, still not shying away from the helmeted gaze. “Din,” he called softly, so as not to scare the Mandalorian away. “Come on, let’s talk this through”

Din shifted on his feet, straightening up, hesitant. Hidden eyes briefly locked onto the fleeting hands on his belt, as if entertaining a treacherous thought.

“No, I-… I need to continue,” he replied, but the words had lost their animosity.

Luke wasn’t sure where the disappointment came from, it was so sudden, an instant reaction to Din’s words. This was Din pushing him away, and Luke couldn’t help but feel the full weight of that rejection. He wasn’t sure why it hurt as much as it did. 

His eyes dropped onto the ground, his hands folded to prevent himself from reaching for Din. “Of course, I understand.”

Din’s grip tightened around the beskar, leather gloves creaking slightly as an uncomfortable silence settled between the two. There was noticeable hesitation, a sensation rather than a feeling which Luke couldn’t quite understand. He tried looking for a reason to stay, but there was nothing more he could argue. This was out of his power, more personal, a line he shouldn’t – and wouldn’t – cross. Maybe Din was right, maybe Mandalore didn’t need the help of the Republic, or the Jedi, and this was an idle and naive attempt at trying to reconcile their nations. 

He nodded quietly before stepping back, knowing in his heart that whatever the Mand’alor decided, it was the right choice to make.

“Wait.”

Din’s body had relaxed, and as Luke turned around in surprise, he could picture the everlasting frown hidden beneath the mask.

“You know how to spar,” his voice was softer now.

Luke let out a small huff, still unsure about it all. “That’s… a way of putting it.”

They stood a few feet apart as Din silently considered the idea. “I… could use a teacher.”

Luke tried to hide his smile, head tilted to the side. If this was some sort of apology, Din wouldn’t say. “As an enemy or a friend?” he asked, and he couldn’t help but notice the way Din’s helmet cocked slightly at the words. 

“As an ally,” the Mandalorian finally answered.

Luke’s hands slowly reached for the clasp of his robe, freckles highlighted by the dusky glints of the sun. The cloak fell to the ground, and Luke waited for Din to ready himself. “Well then,” he spoke, confident but soothing. “Let’s see what you’re capable of.”

Extending his right hand, Luke pulled an abandoned spear toward him, catching it with ease. Din’s hands clutched at his sides, and Luke sensed hesitation, remorse perhaps. It wasn’t about the sparring, it just lingered in his body, his energy. Though Luke waited patiently for words to come, Din remained silent.

Luke tested the weight of the spear, twisting and swaying it around him like he would a lightsaber. It laid heavier in his hands, and he adjusted his grip, shifting onto his feet as he tried to find more stability. He focused his attention on Din, eyes locked onto his armored silhouette. Luke nodded, encouraging him to strike first. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Din lifted the spear, knees slightly bent, and lunged forward with unexpected agility. Though Din was quick on his feet, Luke managed to block his first hit effortlessly. He pushed back to regain distance between them, and managed to evade Din’s second strike. The next few blows were less predictable, and Luke had to improvise and anticipate much more quickly. 

Metal spears clang loudly as they pushed against the other’s defense, but Luke was so attuned to his senses he could hear their labored breathing through it all. Din was resourceful, but Luke was agile, both styles somewhat complimenting each other. It was strangely enticing – much different than what Luke was used to as a teacher.

Looking for an opening, Luke managed to make Din stumble with a precise blow to the knees, and he took the advantage to jump forward and disarm him. As Din fell to the ground, Luke’s spear sprang to his throat without any hesitation, and the warrior stilled instantly.

Luke hummed. “I win.”

Chest heaving and helmet indecipherable, Din’s voice was suddenly faint, raspy. “I yield.”

Luke laughed, but it was sweet, innocent, devoid of mockery. “That was impressive,” he smiled as he offered Din a hand. “It’s not as graceful as a lightsaber, but I could get used to it.”

Din pushed himself off from the ground, surprisingly quiet. They exchanged looks, and for the first time, Luke genuinely wished he could see his face. They stood close, both of them breathing in exertion. 

Din pushed his cape to the side, revealing the handle of the darksaber on his hip. “Let’s try again.”

*

Night had fallen long ago, heavy clouds hovering Keldabe. The city had been left in silence, tiring harvest days coming to an end. As Luke tossed and turned in his bed, a strange ache welled in his chest, making it hard to fall asleep. For once, the images plaguing him weren’t nightmares, but thoughts he couldn’t stop his mind from entertaining. 

He tried hard to ignore them, and it worked for a while. Then he thought about the way Din had talked about Grogu, the subtle changes in his body language whenever he was mentioned, their first lesson together, their conversation. Whenever Luke thought about it, a feeling fluttered in his chest. It was daunting, almost scary in a way, but exhilarating at the same time. Like a seed, it grew and seeped through his mind, body and heart. This wasn’t just pure curiosity anymore, it was something more, something no Jedi would ever admit.

He let out a deep sigh as he shifted into a seating position on the edge of the bed. Tired eyes wandered the room, trying to make sense of it all. The fire’s remains glowed in the dark, glimmers of deep orange reflecting in the room. The pile of clothes Din had gifted him still sat untouched on one of the seats. 

He stood up, slowly heading towards the seat, until bare prosthetic fingers brushed mindlessly against the soft fabric. Sleep still harbored his mind, and Luke picked up the clothing without realizing. It smelled of soap, with herbal hints that reminded him of the pine forest of Mandalore. The fabric was thicker than his usual cloaks, tightly knit and sewed with detailed care. 

Luke looked up toward a small table, where his commlink laid. He checked to see if a message had been left, and noticed the small crack right through the middle. He examined it with wide horror – without the commlink there was no way to communicate with the Jedi council. He must have damaged it while sparring with Din. 

He tried to switch it on, but to no avail. If the council had tried to contact him, this could potentially mean trouble. He needed to find a way to check his recent communications. Their confidentiality meant he had to do so as soon as possible. How could he have been so reckless?

He closed his eyes, lips pressed in a thin line. Sleep was a distant option. Maybe a walk towards his ship would do him some good after all. Though he wasn’t quite rejoiced by the thought, Luke grabbed the cloak and got dressed before quietly heading out of the hut.

Wind instantly whipped his bare face, cheeks and fingers reddening from the biting cold. The moons were still glistening in the dark, though hidden behind heavy clouds. Halfway through his walk to the x-wing, snowflakes started floating through the air, and it became clear why the Mandalorian had gifted him the additional cloak.

He was about to reach the estuary where he had left the ship, when he sensed it again – that feeling of being watched, as if something lurked in the shadows, following close behind. He stopped in his tracks, the hood of his robe flowing in the wind, his gloved hand brushing the lightsaber on his hip. The snowfall was getting heavier, making it hard to see through the night. 

The wings of his ship appeared on the horizon, and Luke approached carefully, ready to draw his weapon. Something moved behind the trees, barely visible, and then – a noise. Luke instantly ignited his lightsaber to deflect the incoming blast shot, but it was seconds too late. The blast hit his prosthetic, and the lightsaber fell out of his hand as he cried out in pain. 

A probe droid emerged out of the snow, but Luke was able to duck and jump behind a tree for the second blast. Immediately, he extended his left arm to hurl the enemy droid towards him through the snow. He balled his left hand into a fist, and metal creaked loudly as he crushed the probe droid with the Force until it fell to the ground.

Waves of sharp shocks went through his injured arm, and Luke hunched over as he tried to ignore the strange pain the prosthetic was causing. The droid laid still in the snow, its body unrecognizable. Dread sat heavy in his stomach. He looked around for more, but couldn’t sense anything else. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. A probe droid on Mandalore could only mean there were more.

Electricity buzzed through his hand, and Luke carefully tried to move the damaged fingers. They twitched awkwardly, unable to extend entirely. Luke grabbed his lightsaber, and ran towards his ship, leaving hurried footprints in the snow. The cockpit jumped open, and Luke climbed into it without hesitation. The ship’s panels lightened up in colors, as did the communication system.

“This is Luke Skywalker,” he began the message, trying to compose his thoughts in a hurry. “A probe droid has been sent to Mandalore, and I can only imagine how many more will show. The planet has refused Republic assistance, but I fear great danger is to come.” He paused, eyes darkened by the panels. “Do _not_ send any troops. I will stay here until I know the planet is safe from the Separatists. 

Until then, may the Force be with you.”

*

The way back had been troublesome, the snow building up like a wall, slowly but surely drowning everything in its sight. Luke could barely see his feet, much less the trees raised on the horizon. It was unbearably cold, and the wind only made it harder to move through the storm. The ache buzzing through his injured arm had gotten impossible to ignore, and Luke longed for a place to hide, someplace warm where he could repair the prosthetic.

Shivering and exhausted, Luke finally managed to reach Keldabe, and found the armory where he and Din had stored the spears after their sparring together. In hopes of finding the tools to repair the damaged prosthetic, he pushed the front door and entered the room without a second thought, too tired to think it through. Just as he was about to make his way toward the gear, he noticed the candle, burning at the entrance. He wasn’t alone. 

“Luke?” a familiar voice called, but it was strangely clear, unmodulated. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” Luke looked up in surprise, clearly not expecting to see anyone at this hour. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

He was about to turn around and leave, but something about the silhouette made him still instantly. He took a double look, confused and stunned, because surely there was no way the bare-faced man sitting at the table was the helmeted Mand’alor Luke knew. Dark curls and a well-groomed mustache cupped the man’s face, and his eyes shone as deep as licorice, but the voice was unmistakable. 

“Din?” Luke frowned, completely taken aback by the sight. Sitting in his flight suit, there he was, as human as one could imagine, meticulously cleaning the pieces of his armor.

“Yeah, I know,” Din mumbled and Luke stood in shock at how expressive the face behind the mask was.

He was quiet for a moment, unable to find anything to say, silence stretching between them. “Did something happen?” Din asked, and his eyes pointed at Luke’s limp hand and his cloak covered in snow.

“I-...” he trailed off, his thoughts a blurry mess. “I got shot. Probe droid. I managed to destroy it though.” 

Din’s frown deepened, and he stood up without a second thought. “Let me see,” he spoke, his voice coarse and low, sending shivers down Luke’s spine.

Luke stood silent for a moment, lost in the depth of Din’s eyes, and he couldn’t find any excuse for the awkwardness of his reaction. With a gentle gesture, Din invited him to sit down beside him, and Luke obliged quietly, letting Din take his wrist with surprising tenderness. He winced as Din slowly pulled off the leather glove, careful not to hurt him. Upon seeing the exposed wires, Din stilled in his movements.

“Oh,” he spoke, not sure what else to say. “I thought...” Then, as he examined it carefully. “It just looked so real.”

Din’s thumb lingered on his wrist, and the touch was an abrupt contrast to the pain Luke had been feeling the last hour. It was soft, absentminded, and Din obviously didn’t know Luke felt every slight tingle against his prosthetic skin. 

“What did this?” he asked, but it wasn’t about the recent blast injury.

“A lightsaber,” Luke replied, hesitant. “Deadly weapons in the hands of the Sith.” 

He didn’t dare to mention they were deadly in the hands of Jedi, too. Din stood up to grab the right tools, and perhaps he was pondering his next question, or perhaps he was just trying to put some distance between them as he continued.

“Does it hurt?”

Their eyes met briefly, and Luke’s heart jumped slightly. He tried to recall a time anyone had asked him this question. It was hard not to think about all the hardships he had so badly tried to hide over the years.

“Barely.”

Din settled once again beside him, his presence soothing, and his touch welcoming. He grabbed his hand with care before starting to work on the loose wires.

“May I ask you a personal question?” he asked after a long pause, his eyes focused on the task at hand.

Luke hesitated. “Of course.”

Din looked up slightly, the softness of his traits a startling contrast with the harshness of his helmet. “Why are you so intent on helping Mandalore?”

Piercing blue eyes settled on his face. “We are keepers of the peace,” Luke replied, unable to hide the sadness in his voice. “We are meant to prevent conflict from arising.”

Din hummed quietly as he grabbed another tool. “Some fights are better fought alone.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“The way of the Mandalore,” Din explained, their eyes locked. “Our culture is all about protecting family, friends, neighbors. Dying for that cause… That is what makes us good warriors.”

His pupils shifted, fingers twitching as he connected a disjointed wire.

“The Jedi… their heart is in the right place,” he paused, mournful. His eyes were glowing in the dark, his brows furrowed in concern, aware of the responsibility weighing down on his shoulders. “But this war is inevitable.”

And then, his eyes became distant, cloudy. “My people… I don’t know how to do right by them.”

Luke’s left hand drew up, hesitating before slowly dropping onto Din’s forearm.

“They look up to you,” he noted, but his smile carried a knowing melancholia. “They trust you to make the right choice.”

They exchanged looks, and Din paused, tool in the air, his grip around Luke’s wrist softening.

“ _I_ trust you to make the right choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please don't forget to leave a kudo and/or a comment if you liked it, it would mean the world to me!  
> The third and last part is almost done, so it should be posted pretty quickly after this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please beware of the tags and content warning!

Jedi and Mandalorians, Luke had found, had much more in common than they would have liked to admit. They were zealous warriors with strict individual beliefs, a strong moral code, and a fervent wish for a peaceful life. They shared a sense of community, and unconditional trust in the future generations. When Luke watched the children play, their happy faces drawn into smiles, he saw nothing but love. The parents, the siblings, the neighbors – they all took care of the small ones.

Din was no different. He spent much time with the children, and Grogu was never far away, always somewhere in his orbital sphere. Din played with the kids whenever he could, he told them stories, and spoke to them like he would with any adult. And the children loved him, too. They asked for his presence, and they cheered whenever he promised to join them later. It was always bittersweet, because sometimes Din had setbacks, sometimes his title as a Mand’alor made it hard to keep his promises. But he always found a way to make it up to them. 

Jedi Masters and their Padawans shared a sacred bond, the same way a parent would share a bond with his child. Luke had never been assigned a Padawan, but his young students at the temple had given him a role as a mentor, as a figure of trust. They had fulfilled a wish Luke knew he never would have been granted otherwise. A semblance of fatherhood.

When Luke saw Grogu safely nestled in Din’s arms, there were no words to really describe what feeling it evoked. Warmth, yearning, and maybe somewhere, deep inside – love. It was an innocent kind of love, the kind of love that brought sadness because it was selfless in nature. Perhaps it brought back unwanted memories of his own father, and everything these memories entailed. These feelings were layered, and Luke’s internal wounds hadn’t fully healed yet, not enough for it not to hurt whenever he entertained the thoughts. 

His relationship with fatherhood was a messy puzzle which he never quite figured out. A puzzle with untraceable missing pieces. But looking at Din, Luke knew that to be unimportant.

“ _ Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaasla. _ ”

Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you will be.

*

Slowly, things had started shifting between them. It was so subtle Luke hadn’t even realized it. A simple routine, really. They met in the mornings, and talked politics, serious conversations about the future of Mandalore, the state of the Outer Rim, the involvement of the Republic, the Clone Wars. Sometimes Grogu came along, and they shared comfortable moments of silence as the child ran around. Sometimes Luke told about the recent orders from the council, about his duty as a Jedi. And in the rare instances when Din would open up, he would talk about Mandalore, its culture and what it meant to him. Every time they parted ways for the day, it lingered in the air, invisible but palpable all the same.

Though the sun had risen, Luke only woke up long after that. For the first time in a few weeks, he had found proper sleep. No nightmares, no visions, only the peaceful sound of the winds. It was a welcome gift after long days of work and turmoil. Snow was covering all of Keldabe, a soft blanket of white burying the small buildings. It was soothing.

As he worked to get dressed, his fingers brushed against the slight blonde stubble that was covering his face. Luke hadn’t shaved since his injury, all too preoccupied by his mission to bother with such a trivial detail. It felt rough, and the sensation was unfamiliar. 

He looked in the mirror, razor in front of him, a bowl of water at his side, and started to foam the shaving cream betweens his palms. A Mandalorian tune he heard by the bonfire was stuck in his head, and Luke quietly hummed in its rhythm without realizing. As he carefully applied the cream on his face, the door opened discreetly in the living room, and Luke was far too focused to notice the new presence.

The Mandalorian leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, with a wide awake Grogu hanging on a sling against his hip, ears all perked up in interest. Unaware of Din’s presence, Luke hadn’t stopped humming the melody to himself.

“That song,” Din finally prompted softly, and Luke almost jumped. “Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.”

Luke watched him make a tentative step inside through the mirror. 

“Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame.” 

Luke’s blue eyes met his. He wasn’t wearing the helmet, and he wondered if there was any meaning to that.

“Vode An is an ancient war chant Mandalorians sing before battle,” Din’s voice was calm, unmodulated. There was softness in his eyes, a flicker of warm light. “I didn’t know you remembered it.”

Luke’s face lit up into a small smile, the razor still in his hand. “I couldn’t get it out of my head. I quite like it.”

Din moved closer, and his gaze dropped slightly, hands clenched tightly so as not to fiddle with his gloves. A nervous gesture Luke had often observed out of the corner of his vision. They looked at each other through the mirror, and Luke invited him to sit down with him as he resumed his task.

“You’re going somewhere,” he noted, picking up on the unusual way Din had dressed that morning.

Luke dipped the blade into the water, and Din’s eyes followed the movements absentmindedly. 

“I’m heading to Sundari”, he answered as he let Grogu climb on his lap, out of the sling. 

“To the beskar mines?” Luke asked as he neared the blade toward his face, but the tremor in his prosthetic hand made it hard to be precise. Though mostly repaired, Luke hadn’t found the right material to finish the calibrations. He would need to go back to Coruscant. 

“Yes,” Din simply replied, without developing further, but the rumors about the war disrupting the trade of beskar had already made the talk around the city. “I was thinking… Perhaps you’d be willing to look after Grogu while I’m gone.”

Luke looked at him intently, diverting his eyes from the mirror. “Are you asking me?”

Dark eyes dropped into a light frown. He seemed shy all of the sudden. “Would you?”

“Of course,” Luke smiled reassuringly. “I’m… surprised, is all.”

Their eyes met briefly, but Luke could tell the Mandalorian was holding back his thoughts.

“Duty calling you?”

Din nodded, fingers brushing Grogu’s fuzzy head mindlessly. “Something like that.”

Luke hummed quietly as he slid the blade clumsily, accidentally nicking the skin. Din noticed the drop of blood, and he was quick to grab the towel to prevent Luke from making a mess.

“May I?” he asked gently, pointing to the razor in his hand. 

“Please”, Luke replied bashfully, not expecting such a kind offer. “Don’t feel obligated.”

“I want to,” Din simply answered. “You’re my guest.”

Luke nodded quietly. He wasn’t used to asking for help, but he wasn’t one to refuse either. He figured this wasn’t unusual for the Mandalorian, a simple courteous gesture. It certainly didn’t make his heart beat faster, nor did the thought make his mouth go dry. And surely Din didn’t realize how the gesture made him flush.

Din’s hand reached forward, and Luke let him take the razor from his hand. Their fingers brushed, but he couldn’t for the life of him look up. He wasn’t used to this much proximity, it felt strange, scary. 

As they sat side by side, the gentle tick of the clock filling the silence, he couldn’t fight the urge to run. It was so sudden, so spontaneous, an instinct he couldn’t control. Touch had never been a concern before. Luke touched when he talked, when he laughed. Touch had never scared him, so why did it now?

Din gently pushed Luke’s head to the left to expose his jaw, and the trace of his fingers burned unexpectedly. The cold blade slid expertly against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Luke sat impossibly still.

“Do you think we should send out patrols?” Din asked as he briefly dipped the blade in the water to clean it, eyes diverting from Luke.

“It might be a good precaution,” he replied as he let out a breath he didn’t notice he was holding.

Din was facing him once again, warm breath hovering over his skin as he worked the blade around his lips. The movements were smooth, confident. He was entirely focused, soft lips pressed into a thin line. 

Unsure where to look, Luke focused on the dark curls cupping Din’s face and the way the muscles in his forearms strained when he bent forward. His heart was pounding in his chest, and it was slowly getting impossible to ignore how close they were.

He was too scared to connect to the Force to sense Din’s feelings, to see if he was as worked up as he was. It felt ludicrous. A Jedi Master, refusing to connect to the Force because he feared what he would find. He felt like a young boy, wide-eyed, caught in the headlights. He couldn’t point to the source of his fear, its intensity. 

As fingers brushed against his cheek, Luke closed his eyes, choosing to stay silent, scared that he would only make it worse if he spoke. He had to remind himself that this was strictly amical, and that there were no reasons to think otherwise.

He was so lost in thoughts, trying so hard not to escalate his embarrassment he failed to notice that the bowl had started to levitate. Din stopped instantly, a look of confusion and intrigue on his face.

“Luke,” he tried hesitantly. “The bowl is… floating.”

Piercing blue eyes snapped open in shame, and Luke winced as he realized what had happened.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke, but his voice was faint and his expression bashful. He let the bowl down. “I don’t know why I did that.”

He took a deep breath. “It’s just that… Nobody has ever done this for me before.”

Din looked at him with dark eyes, so very soothing. “I don’t mean to overstep your boundaries,” he answered, briefly moving his hands away from his face. “I can stop if you want.”

Luke couldn’t meet his eyes, too embarrassed that he would lose focus on the Force so easily at a mere touch. “No, I-,” he tried. “I appreciate your help, Din.”

The Mandalorian searched his eyes for any trace of doubt, but it was obvious whatever had caused Luke’s distraction would never be voiced. It was still too fragile to explain. 

Din wet the blade before quietly resuming his work. “Mandalorians get injured during their training all the time,” he explained, trying to keep Luke’s mind off his thoughts as the metal touched the delicate skin on his chin. “When I swore the Creed, I swore to take care of the members of my clan, too.”

He stepped back and reached for a towel before handing it to Luke. Their hands briefly met, and Luke was not brave enough to ask what his words implied.

“That’s… very noble.”

Luke’s hand lingered on his, and Din was close, so very close. He noticed the whitened scar on his tanned skin, the fine hair on his forearms, and he was tempted to reach for it, to feel the texture of his skin under his fingertips. 

It was incredibly quiet except for their slow breathing and the slight ticking of the clock. He didn’t feel like saying anything, he wanted to let go of his invisible restraints, and give into his feelings. Maybe Din would have let it, maybe he was still sitting there, hoping for him to make the first step.

“I’ll see you then,” Din finally spoke, but his tone was almost reluctant. 

Luke had the courage to look him in the eye, and his beating heart ached at the words. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

“Good.” 

*

Grogu had a lot to say about his discovery in the woods. It was hard to understand what he was trying to explain, but his overall energy and talkativeness was endearing, and Luke could only smile and nod as Grogu babbled away. They were wandering through the snow, Grogu happily sitting on his shoulders, holding onto Luke’s hair. 

It meant a lot to him that Din had entrusted him with Grogu. It didn’t matter what species – they were like father and son, and Luke was grateful for the trust. It was also obvious Grogu loved being able to communicate with Luke through the Force, knowing he was the only force-sensitive person around. Always eager to explore, Grogu showed a connection to the Force that was much different than Luke was used to. He was naturally skilled, and it wasn’t seldom to see small stones flying through the air as Grogu frolicked through the grass.

Luke had assigned and dispatched a few patrols following Din’s departure, and was now looking for someplace to rest and meditate with Grogu. Force lessons between the two were rare, but whenever Luke had the chance, he would sit down and teach him better connection to the Force. Grogu never focused for long, but each time he got better, and each time Luke was delighted to tell Din all about it. The child’s progress always made Din smile, and Luke swore it was Grogu’s sole motivation. To him, his father’s smile was a reward in itself.

As they sat down and meditated in unison, Luke learned, perhaps a bit late, that touch didn’t scare him. In fact, touch was an inherent part of his life, a way to connect, a subtle gesture of communication. No, what scared him to the point of feeling the urge to run away – it was intimacy. 

Though he was used to initiating contact, he never quite had the fortune of knowing someone so intimately. The unknown, he figured, was as terrifying as it was riveting. Din’s gesture might have seemed mundane on a surface level, but to him it was more than that. Sometimes, gestures were words that could not be said, and if combined, those words represented a language of love, of thoughtfulness. But sometimes, words were made of thorns, and the gestures became poisonous, too. 

As he closed his eyes in meditation, he tried to search his feelings, to understand, or maybe to dwell in it. He sat quietly, listening to the waves of the Force, powerful yet pacifying. Patches of snow started melting around him, and Grogu babbled in interest, his eyes locked onto Luke’s calm face. He felt his heartbeat slow down, and he could sense it somewhere in him – the inner peace, the balance. Luke let himself go, trusting the waves to catch his fall. 

Greenery sprouted all around him, and small colorful flowers opened up in quietude. The cold had turned his breath into white steam, but Luke wasn’t trembling. He felt warm, safe.

Grogu watched the flower bloom with childlike bedazzlement. It was like spring had made its way through the thick layers of snow, bringing warmth, light, and life back to the glaze for a brief moment in time. Sunlight reflected onto Luke’s blond hair, and he let it settle on his face. It reminded him of home.

The more he let himself go, the closer he got to a familiar presence in the Force. It shone bright, its incandescence almost blinding him. It was strong, radiant. He tried to reach for it, but something made him stop, like an invisible curtain separating him from the silhouette. Each step he took made him stumble, and his connection lost all stability. The waves suddenly became stronger and stronger, until wind picked up, building up like an impenetrable barrier. The sun was replaced by smog, and greenery withered from the heavy clouds. Luke tried once again, pushing to find the source, to discover the presence’s signature, only to be met by a torrent of sea and rain. 

The frown on Luke’s face deepened as he carefully navigated the waters. Grogu’s ears dropped, and the child let out a whine at the sudden change of atmosphere. Luke’s breath became shallow as the familiarity of the presence became clearer. He saw it briefly, a dark silhouette, lost in the white fog of his vision. It was facing away from him, and the closer he got, the further it seemed.

“No-” Luke reached and reached, falling deeper into the water, but the silhouette slowly washed away with the waves, leaving something behind, something familiar. It was a signet – its outline shaped into the head of a mudhorn. It was Din’s signet. 

Watery blue eyes snapped open, and Luke felt his breath hasten. It was cold, a hollow feeling burrowing inside his chest. He had felt this sensation only once before. That first night at the bonfire, when the voices and the cries had called out through the Force. That dreaded feeling of loss. Of death.

Grogu was looking at him with worried eyes, all expressions of joy vanished, and Luke paled at the sight. He had to get to Din immediately. The visions – they all amounted to this. He didn’t think about it twice. He tucked Grogu safely into the sling, and ran toward the speeder. He let the engine roar before driving off through the forest, cold wind whistling in his ears. 

Trees flashed before him, and then Luke heard the noises. A ship flew over his head, followed by thunderous rumble. He looked up in shock, eyes brightening from the luminance, and he watched as gunfire blazed like wind during a storm. It was like fireworks during daylight, washing upon the forest, and wiping out everything in its path. Destruction in all its glory, leaving nothing behind. 

Luke strangled on the excruciating sorrow, feelings of pain and hopelessness so overwhelming his heart bled crimson. He saw it, with his own eyes, yet he felt betrayed by his senses. As fire lit its path through the forest, it dawned upon him – there was no hope.

He knew whatever happened, whatever visions had plagued his mind, nothing could have changed the course of things. It was bigger than them, unavoidable forces they could never have stopped from raging. The devastating sight was tearing him apart yet deep down he still believed in Din’s decision to stand his ground. The attack was over in minutes, but Luke knew the scars would last a lifetime. 

The speeder rushed through the burning trees, but he only had one thing in mind. He was driving dangerously fast, Grogu securely nestled against him, his ears flowing in the wind.

Sundari appeared on the horizon, thick black clouds of smoke, the city's outline blurred by dust. Luke recognized the beskar mines, and then his eyes met Din’s gunship, turned into a wreckage, pieces of metal splayed across the ground. The dread grew, and Luke did not stop his chase. He watched as he passed the ship's ruins, trying to find that signature once again through the Force, desperate to find a sign of life. 

Luke arrived at the mines, the gigantic craters of soil turned into unrecognizable masses. He jumped off the speeder, and ran, heart beating out of his chest, panting as panic spiked. He ran until he reached the opening, and noticed how the mines had caved in. And then – red.

Luke stopped dead in his tracks, out of breath and dripping in cold sweat. It was like drowning in ocean water, a slow kind of torture. Mandalorian guards strewn onto the ground in bloody puddles, all of them so very still, their armor completely disheveled. Thrown away like ragdolls. The tears rose, but he was so shocked they got stuck in his throat, like needles sticking in his flesh.

The clouds of white sands made it hard to see, and Luke had to rely on his senses to move through the corpses, to reach the entrance. He let out an agonizing breath, hands trembling as he tried to sense any survivors, though deep down he knew his attempt to be in vain.

The mines had collapsed from the bombings, and the dread in the pit of his stomach was threatening to overflow, making him drowsy. There it was again – the cotton ball, drowning out sounds, feelings. 

“Din,” he called out, but his voice was weak, dull. He looked for a way to enter the mines, arms extending to lift what he could out of the way. “Din,” he repeated, like a prayer.

It was hard to breathe, the thick dust making him cough uncontrollably. He tried to focus on the Force, to organize his thoughts, and clear his mind. He needed to find survivors, he needed to find Din. Maybe if he could sense his presence, maybe if he trusted in the Force – there had to be a way. 

“Din!” he called, louder this time, and at his side, Grogu was impossibly quiet, frightened and hiding in his sling.

Refusing to give up so soon, he listened to his senses, and began to work on the heavier rubble, careful not to let it collapse further. He closed his eyes, and stood tall in front of the wreckage, calling out to the Force, pleading it to give him strength. He pushed relentlessly, brows furrowed in desperate determination, and then – the debris started to rise and rise until it all floated in the air, its crushing weight marked on every trait of Luke’s face.

He carefully stepped closer to the cleared entrance, still not letting go of his focus. It took every ounce of energy for him not to rush into the mine. As he stood under the soaring ruins, Grogu suddenly cooed quietly, alerting him of a distant presence. Luke opened his eyes, and hope bloomed in his chest. Arms still stretched out in front of him, he made his way into the dark until he recognized the silhouette’s familiar armor lying on the ground.

He knelt in front of the silhouette, and looked up at the ceiling of stones. Luke left no room for the exhaustion to settle. His ears were ringing, his own words unintelligible. Luke grabbed the unconscious Mandalorian under his arms, and pulled. He pulled and heaved until he was out of breath, until he reached the mine’s entrance and ultimately felt his focus tumble. He counted to three as he did one final jerk backwards. The massive rubble caved in instantly, and Luke lost balance as he tried to avoid the blow.

The headache was instant. Sprawled onto his back amidst all the bodies, it took him a few moments to open his eyes. Nothing but blinding blue hovering over the city – it almost seemed unreal, too peaceful. He tried pushing himself up, but everything hurt, and his limbs were still shaking. He managed to sit on his knees after a few tries, reaching once again for Din.

“Come on,” he whispered, his voice weakening as each second passed by. “Come on, wake up.”

Trembling hands touched the sides of the helmet, and doubt briefly crossed his mind. It lasted mere seconds, but then the helmet lifted, and Luke’s eyes flickered in worry. Din’s eyes were closed, his brows dropped into a frown. There were traces of blood, but at first glance Din didn’t seem injured. He just looked asleep.

Luke reached for his pulse, and it was faint, but it was there. He was tempted to cry in relief, but the bodies around them only served as a reminder that luck was bound to run out. His joy was reluctant, and the relief felt egoistical. One had lived, many more had died.

Exhaustion washed over him, and Luke drew Din’s body closer until their foreheads touched. He let the weight settle in his arms as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. It wasn’t until Grogu peered from the sling that he dared to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need your validation and your love to continue with this, so please don't forget to leave a comment and/or a kudo, it would really make my day!
> 
> Also, remember how I said this would be the final part? Well, I lied, this got much longer than I anticipated. Credits given to this wonderful fandom, you all inspire me so much.
> 
> So yeah, fourth part is all done, but I'll post it in a few days because I'm evil like that

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to hit me up and chat with me on tumblr @xpapillondenuitx !


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